


Like Smoke

by adoraberry



Series: The Spider in the Ceiling [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Ceiling Vent Peter Parker, Cuddling & Snuggling, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, Muteness, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Cuddle Monster, Peter Parker is a Mess, Platonic Cuddling, Poor Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Seriously give him all the cuddles, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:42:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24692467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adoraberry/pseuds/adoraberry
Summary: This is how it all starts. This is how Tony ends up with a young, mute Peter running amok in the tower vents and cuddling him into submission. All Tony had wanted to do was help a sad little city upgrade its infrastructure and gain some quality of life improvements. Who would have thought a charity mission could turn from boring to intriguing in the time it takes for a vent to creak overhead?This series is just shameless cuddles with some story progression thrown in for funsies, and this is how it all began. Future installments are likely to be one shots involving Peter, Tony, and the bewildered Avengers who just want a normal goddamn home life.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: The Spider in the Ceiling [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785208
Comments: 61
Kudos: 486





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First off, no, I have not forgotten about Standing Hollow, I promise! I just needed a breather. Second of all, no, there won't be any romance between Peter or anyone in this fic. This Peter is based pretty heavily off a more MCU-type Peter, and he's pretty young. Standing Hollow is a mishmash of all the Peter Parkers and is intended to be more comic-based. So if you're coming between the two stories, just be aware these are very different Peter Parkers and the stories themselves are going to be very different as well.
> 
> Except for the cuddles. They both get that.
> 
> I'll be writing a bunch of one shots to follow up on this. I wasn't even going to write the origin story but I thought it would make more sense to include it, so I wrote this first. It's complete, but I'll be posting it as two or three chapters. Please follow the series to be notified of any future additions.

Three weeks. Just twenty one days and Tony can go back home to heated floors, the comfort of his own workshop, and his maladjusted, dysfunctional little team. Three weeks and he can have a real burrito again and, god, if he never again sees another endless field it will be too soon.

He counts himself lucky that the lead scientist knows what the hell he’s doing or else getting the facility trained and the tech up and running would have been a hell of a thing. Charity missions are good for public image but not great for Tony’s sanity. Why he had let Pepper talk him into this one is a mystery when any competent Stark Industries scientist could do the same thing. It’s his name they want, not some particular experience that he alone possesses.

In any case, Tony is there now and there’s no going back, or at least not for another twenty one days. He’s learned a bit of the town, and it’s a tiny thing in the middle of nowhere so he should really probably know all of it by now but there’s not much that really catches his interest. It’s given him some good ideas for the Starkmapp that he didn’t think of in a big city, but other than that it’s really not much but a slog to the end.

But he can’t work on apps right now anyway, busy as he is getting this town’s tech infrastructure going, and Tony’s exhausted from all the visitors that suddenly have very legitimate business in whatever room he’s in at all times. It will get better over the ensuing days, he knows that, but it doesn’t stop him from slipping away from the crowd with his late lunch to find somewhere quiet to sit, somewhere he doesn’t have to struggle to concentrate on his own for one second.

Silence is a blessing, come to find out. He’s going to have to remember that actually; maybe apologize to Pepper for the way she never has any when he’s around. The whole team, really. Nick Fury, except that is so incredibly not happening it isn’teven worth having the fleeting thought.

A sound from above knocks Tony from his thoughts. It was soft, barely there, like a hollow tap. He freezes for just a moment, listening. The slightest of sounds comes again, this time identifiably a shift along metal, then silence again. If he hadn’t been so on edge he wouldn’t have even noticed, but his ears have been trained on every small sound and movement for so many hours that he hasn’t successfully stopped.

Another sound, this time across the room. Tony waits several long seconds before turning his head up, gaze locking on a grate above and to the right. Empty now, he’s sure, but… Had it been a some _one_ up there or a some _thing_?

\--

“Work?” his associate asks, looking puzzled. “We’re all working here.”

“No,” Tony says, gesturing at the walls. “I mean, work on the building. You know, HVAC, electrical, maintenance?”

“No,” the man says. “No… Work wasn’t being done yesterday.”

“Any pest control issues?” Tony asks, taking a swig from his cup and feigning disinterest, because the man is starting to look concerned now.

“No. Mr Stark, is there something wrong?”

“No, all’s good,” Tony says, flashing him that award winning smile. “Just wanted to make sure. If we’re going to install this for the city, can’t have it being eaten by rats, huh?”

“No,” the man agrees, frowning at the schematic Tony’s pushing in front of him. “We can’t have that.”

\--

No one in the building is aware of the lookie loo above, judging by the way Tony is the only one who ever looks up at the vents and the grates in the ceiling. They run through the whole building, he knows that much from looking at the building blueprints. If this were Stark Tower, JARVIS would be able to tell him what’s going on, what’s in there, how it got there, what it’s doing-

But this isn’t Stark Tower. There’s no use being bitter about that. It’s not like the plans he’s putting into place are anything dangerous in the wrong hands, just high tech quality of life improvements that they’re hoping will spread and be adopted across the neighboring counties with time. He doesn’t even have to hide anything because he’s made the plans public, and it’s really just expertise they need to get it set up.

So Tony works as normal, and at the end of the day when it’s time for dinner, he slips away to his quiet space and he waits. He goes back the next day, and the next, and the next. On the fourth day he hears it again, that hollow, metallic creak from above. It’s not an animal. He’s not exactly sure why he’s so confident about that, but there’s just something about the way their weight shifts and slips away that screams human, the quiet but thoughtful presence behind it. There’s a person up there, for some reason. A person no one knows about, doing things no one knows about, and it’s seen Tony down here at least twice and gone away.

Tony intends to figure this mystery out, and it’s really just a bonus that he gets some peace while he’s at it. He leaves his unopened pasta salad on the bench when he goes, and the next day it’s gone.

Could just be the janitor, he thinks. Except there’s a fine sheet of dust over most everything but a single supply closet in the back, and even that one is hardly used.

\--

It’s another four days of visiting, leaving different foods behind as he goes, before he hears the sound of them up there again. Tony chews steadily, eyes straight ahead. There’s not another noise and that… is some sort of progress, because at least they aren’t leaving this time. They’re there above him still, watching, and it makes his skin crawl a little but mostly it piques his interest.

“It’s a meatball sandwich today,” Tony says, projecting his voice but not looking up. 

There’s a thunk overhead, the sound of something frantically sliding, and then they’re gone. Tony tracks it as they rush away through the vents. He knew he was pushing it but that doesn’t stop the restless disappointment in his belly. It could have gone better, it could have gone worse. That’s something at least.

He wraps up the last half of the sandwich--and yeah, a meatball sandwich is probably the closest thing to describe it to but it sure ain’t a sandwich from home--and sets it on the bench. Hopefully the stranger likes it more than he does.

The next day he leaves a drink and a piece of cake behind, as some sort of weird food apology for scaring the mystery off.

They’re back the next day. Tony has to put real effort into not smiling around his lunch because that was fast, so much faster than he expected. They obviously know he knows. Have they come to terms with it? Are they just as curious about Tony as Tony is about them? He’s at a bit of a disadvantage if he’s honest with himself, seeing as he’s never, well, _seen_ anything.

He talks again because he can't help himself. It's sort of what he does. He tells the ceiling how the deli he ordered from didn't have what he really wanted but, well, what he really wants is a slice of pizza from that place down the street from the tower, gooey cheese all over his hands and it's the best fucking thing. They don't leave this time, like maybe they were prepared to be talked to, and Tony is probably projecting but he really feels like they're on the edge of their seat as he waxes poetic about his favorite toppings and then transitions seamlessly into that great Thai place they get delivery from about once a week.

He’s not even sure his mystery peeker understands English, but it’s gotta be kind of lonely up there with no one even aware of your existence. Tony’s watched the security footage; no one comes or goes from the building that doesn’t belong. He even installed a couple of his own to watch the entire exterior of the building. Nada. Whoever it is up there, they don’t leave, and when they come down they know how to slip through the holes of the security inside.

So Tony is betting that after who-knows-how-long of silence, it might be kind of nice to have someone talk even if you can’t understand a word they say.

The softest rasp of metal on metal draws Tony’s attention, but he doesn’t stop talking. He doesn’t even glance in that direction until his meal time has come to an end. Only once he has stood, clearly telegraphing his every move and hearing the cave-creature slip away, does he look up at the vent, finding it just slightly askew.

\--

Tony is discussing the minutiae of the fine art of steeping a tea bag in hot water when he hears the rasp once again and catches movement from the corner of his eye. He looks before he can stop himself, and they’re stuck staring each other in the eyes for several long seconds, both of them frozen in place.

He’s… a he. Young, not a kid and maybe old enough to be on his own, but not so old that it’s a stable life with no support system. Not that the kid has to worry about rent or car insurance or anything, but scavenging food from the ceiling of a work building isn’t exactly a life of glamor either. Better than the streets, maybe, exposed to the elements. There’s fresh water and bathrooms available at all times here, and no one to look down on him as they walk by. He gets to look down on them, just as he is now to Tony, all wide-eyed shock.

Then the moment is over. The kid pulls his hanging head right back into the vents, not even bothering to close it up before he’s slipping away, creaking off into the ether. To Tony’s surprise, though, he doesn’t go far, the sounds of movement stopping halfway across the room. Thinking, maybe, or perhaps reconsidering? He imagines they’re both breathing in tandem, hearts puttering madly in their chests to the same beat.

 _I’m safe_ , he thinks at the kid, and says: “You like baklava?”

The room is quiet. Tony unwraps the little paper packet he’d been saving for last, removing a sticky square of baklava for himself and setting the extra one on the bench beside him. Impulse purchases are a real skill of his at this point, and he’s glad for the distraction right now. Anything to keep the kid’s attention, keep him from running away again.

He eats the baklava slowly, listening closely though no sound comes from above. He is just beginning to think the kid had calmed down enough to up his sneak to max level and gotten away when there’s a light tap-tap from the last place he’d heard sound.

“Still here,” Tony says, rubbing his finger with a napkin and grimacing. “Trying to get delicious baklava off my fingers. You got any tips?”

Nothing, of course. He hadn’t really been expecting a response.

“Wow, this stuff is like glue. I could probably make something out of it. Maybe use it instead of screws on the next prototype.”

There’s another creak a minute later, this time just at the location of the grate. He lets himself look this time, not studiously but a casual glance over and back to his hands, checking as he works until, there, a head appears. Just a pair of eyes this time and a forehead matted with hair. He looks wary, like a cub without its mother, approaching but with a hiss laying in wait as back up. Tony doubts there’s much oomph behind this kid either, though he has absolutely no evidence for it.

“There’s one left,” Tony says, pointing at the square beside him. “You can come get it.”

The head disappears. Is he surprised? No. Disappointed? Maybe a little. But patience has gotten him this far so Tony waits. Sure enough, the head appears again. Tony’s finally managed to get most of the sugar off his fingers with the use of his drinking water on the napkin, so he shakes droplets off and thinks.

“I’ll just bring it over, hm?” He picks up the baklava and slowly stands. The head is gone again, of course, but there’s no sound of running away.

He telegraphs every move with exaggerated swings of the arm and leg, brings his foot down louder than normal, and does everything he can to be as obvious and awkward as humanly possible. It works. He makes his way across the short space to just under the grate, and he can almost sense the boy breathing above him. He lifts the baklava up above his head, holding it toward the grate without actually looking directly at it, and waits.

And waits.

It takes a full minute, but the kid peers down at him and it’s so strange to see him from this close, let alone at all. His eyes are a deep brown and distinctly doubtful, but they look at each other and he reaches down with one hesitant arm. There are some false starts, the kid drawing back a couple times for no discernable reason Tony can find, but eventually he takes the baklava, snaps it right back up with him like he thinks Tony might make a grab for his arm any second.

He backs up then but doesn’t leave, and then they’re just staring at each other, nothing between them but air. As interested as Tony is in him, the kid looks absolutely _rapt_ with Tony even through the fear. It’s not quite wide eyed wonder, but he looks at Tony from his perch like he’s trying to read him, and like he’s never seen another human before. It makes _him_ feel like the alien there on the ground, like he’s the one breaking social norms by not being up in the vents.

Tony clears his throat and nods vaguely in the direction of the vent, where the hand and baklava had disappeared. “You should eat that fast, before it manages to coat everything you own in sugar.”

He kind of curses himself for that as soon as he says it because it doesn’t look like the kid owns anything more than the clothes on his back, but the kid doesn’t seem to mind, hardly even reacts except to set his chin down, still staring. He hopes the kid does eat it though. He looks thin, too thin and too translucently pale, and Tony’s drawn back in his memories to Rhodey talking about his Navy childhood and his time in Japan. Smoke demons, he had said as they puffed at a large blunt on their backs on Tony’s bed, waving his hand through the wisps to send them looping and dispersing through the air. Harmless demons made of the rising smoke from a fire. Captivating and fragile, and gone before you’d quite gotten a grasp on the fact they’d been there at all.

The kid doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere, his badly-barbered hair hanging every which way around his head. He kind of looks like he’ll sit there staring for as long as Tony will let him and, hey, yeah, it’s been great but Tony has a job to do and he’s kind of starting to feel like a bug under glass.

“I gotta get going,” he says, tapping his watch. “Not all of us get to spend our days in the sky.”

The kid blinks and his mouth twitches downward, but he otherwise doesn’t react.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Tony says, taking a step back. “See ya around.”

\--

He shouldn’t care more just for having seen the lurking shadow in the sky, but he does. Before, it could have been anyone up there--an inept spy, a very large raccoon, a forty year old man jerking off to a man quietly eating his lunch every day.

Now that he’s seen the kid though, now that he truly understands that somehow the vents are inhabited by a strange, _scared_ creature who really shouldn’t be alone in the world, well... All bets are off. His towering curiosity has become a sort of burning need to understand, and maybe a coal of concern underneath all that. He’s only got a week left here to figure this out and maybe get some more calories in the little demon in the sky. He was so _skinny_.

So the next day Tony calls Pepper and tells her there’s been a delay, some parts never arrived, well they did arrive but they’re the wrong ones, they need new ones, look it’s just that he’s gonna be here a little longer. Maybe a week extra? It’s really hard to say right now. And yes, he knows that he’s needed back at home, this was just supposed to be a little side effort, something to pump up the stocks, get people really feeling good about Stark Industries though really, shouldn’t the whole superhero thing be enough? No, yeah, he gets it, and he will totally be home as soon as he can, but he needs more than one more week left so maybe extend it out to two. Yeah, two seems good.

And then he gathers up dinner and heads back to the spot that is quickly becoming his home away from home, more than the hotel is. He wonders if he could get away with hiding a cot in here, except he is 100% sure (because he read the maintenance schedule) that the storage rooms back here are accessed at least weekly, and that’s also why he is about 50% sure that the reason the kid comes through here so regularly is so he can filch some of the supplies meant for the awful cafeteria.

The other 50% thinks maybe it has something to do with Tony being here, too.

“Dinner time!” Tony calls as he locks the door to the rest of the building.

He sets his stuffed full bag down on the bench and pulls a small rubber ball from his pocket. It was a stroke of genius when he saw the dispenser, honestly, best idea he’s ever had and that includes the suit upgrade that starts a pot of coffee brewing at the tower when he’s about ten minutes out. 

Tony doesn’t exactly come at regular times. There’s no way of knowing if the kid is already up there, and there’s no messenger pigeon to send through the vent. Maybe a well trained rat would work but then he’d have to take care of that, too, and he’s got his hands full as it is. No, inanimate and replaceable is exactly what he needs. Before he could start planning a whole intercom system for some kid he’s only gonna see for another two weeks (and why that thought gives him pause is a worry for another day), Tony had grabbed a 25c rubber ball from a dispenser. Problem solved. 

The vent is closed, but it’s the work of two seconds with a broom handle to push it back a bit, and then all he has to do is aim and shoot. Boing-oing-oing-oing-oing. The ball bounds down the vent, echoing through the system as it goes. Tony’d already taken the noise into account and he knows it can’t be heard outside of this room and nearby vents, but it still makes his muscles go a little tense. He has no intention of actually outing the kid to the building at large. He’s pretty sure that would be some sort of unforgivable offense.

There’s nothing for one long minute, and then the creak of movement above. He’s pretty sure at this point that the kid can actually move soundlessly, for the most part, and that he lets the vents sing for Tony’s sake, to announce his presence and maybe check for his welcome. When the ball comes shooting out of the vent a moment later, Tony grins and sets about unpacking the food because he intends to make the kid feel very welcome.

“Barbecue chicken,” Tony says as he pulls out two take away containers, wiggling it in the air a moment before setting it on the bench in case the kid is already peeking. “Vegetables.” Because he’s pretty sure the kid needs those. “Iced tea.” Down go two cups. “Chocolate pie.”

The bench is set with two of everything, a whole spread of food for the both of them. A bit overboard maybe but he hadn’t been able to help himself once he realized he had probably found the best eating spot in town. When he looks up, the kid’s peering out of the grate and he looks like he wants to give one big inhale and suck everything up at once, Kirby-style. Tony grins and sits cross legged on the ground, using the bench as his table.

“You’re welcome to it. Nice spot right there.”

It doesn’t work, of course, but that wasn’t exactly the goal today. The goal today was to introduce the concept and to _tempt_ him. He’s pretty sure both of those hit at least a little, so when he leaves behind a little stack of food for the kid, he doesn’t feel too bad about the fact that he’s eating alone. He leaves a bottle of vitamin C tablets behind when he leaves.

He does the same thing three days in a row, and then he brings pizza. It’s nothing like the pizza at home, just some greasy chain pizza with sad little cheese packets and sausage you could put in a gun chamber. Still, it’s pizza, and it works. The kid is practically hanging halfway out of the vent, his skinny arms somehow clinging behind to hold him up as he cranes around to see. Tony sets out a second plate and puts a couple pieces down to really seal the deal.

“You wouldn’t be hanging like that if you’d tried my place in New York. Best pizza you’ll ever have.” Which is kind of defeating the purpose of luring him out. “This is pretty good too though. They get the gooey cheese right. It’s really best hot and fresh.”

It’s a bit of a stalemate after that though. Tony eats a full slice in fidgeting dissatisfaction. Time is ticking, his days are running out. He needs to meet this kid, for real, sit with him and get him talking or something. If he’s under 18, maybe they can find him a safe home with a good family, picket fence with a dog, all that good stuff. If he’s older, a job and an apartment, and the job part isn’t even necessary, not right off the bat. Tony’s perfectly content to pay for the kid to eat and sleep somewhere safe and private until whatever his issue is can be worked out by a trained professional.

But those plans only work if the kid comes down. He can’t sic anyone on him up there, in the vents that have obviously become his safe haven. It just feels wrong and he’s sure their peaceful little meetings would end forever after that. No, it’s just him and the kid for now, if he can just get the kid down.

Maybe a change will help. The kid doesn’t seem bothered by Tony seeing him as long as Tony doesn’t stare too long, but maybe he’ll feel more secure if he’s invisible. So Tony gets up, feigning that he needs something from his bag, and when he comes back he sits with his back to the vent and picks up where he left off on the next slice.

It takes one slowly, thoughtfully eaten slice. Tony doesn’t hear anything, not a creak or a thunk or a whisper of cloth, but suddenly there’s a presence at his side and the kid is sliding down to sit next to him, a careful foot of distance between them. He’s not as short as Tony thought, is the first thing that comes to mind. His haircut is even worse up close, is the second one.

“The pepperoni pizza is the better of the two,” Tony says, and reachees for his soda. The kid moves with him like a fish in the tide, the space between them staying static as they move right where they are. Tony doesn’t comment on it, and takes another bite.

The kid hesitates for only a moment before grabbing a slice from his own plate. He shoves half the slice into his mouth at once and bites down in much the way Tony imagines a brontosaurus might take down an entire limb of leaves, ripping it from the main portion and chewing hurriedly. His cheeks are bulging with the food packed in his mouth, and he looks at Tony as if daring him to say anything or to take it away.

Tony has no interest in the latter, but he never has been good at holding his tongue. “You don’t have to store it in your cheek pouches. It’s all staying right here until we’re both full.”

The kid looks away, seemingly satisfied that at least the food is staying, and somehow manages to choke down the bite that just keeps on giving. He takes a long but silent drink of the soda at his right, and its then that Tony realizes he hasn’t even made chewing sounds.

“Are you on mute?” Tony asks. “Is there a remote somewhere?”

The kid freezes, every muscle pulled taut, and his hand poises against the ground like he’s about to push himself up and out of there. That’s probably exactly what he looked like before he fled through the vents all those times, if only they had been translucent. Tony back tracks, and quickly.

“I brought cookies too,” he says, rushed. “One of those cookie brownie mix things. Super good, probably still melty and warm.” And then, when the kid still seems uncertain, not looking at the vent but somehow visibly focused on it: “Sorry. No more jokes about talking. I talk enough for the both of us anyway. Pepper says she’s gonna duct tape my mouth shut one day and we’d be on even footing then, huh?”

The kid settles back down but he doesn’t exactly look happy about it. Tony pulls out another slice of pepperoni and slaps it down on the kid’s plate beside the sad sausage slice. Peace, love, and understanding, all in a slice of pizza.

Tony’s pretty well stuffed by the time he finishes the current slice. The kid has inhaled as many slices as Tony’s had the whole time, and is working on another with no sign of slowing. He’s going to ruin his dessert if he’s not careful and that would just be a tragedy, so Tony dishes out a piece of the cookie brownie monstrosity for each of them. He takes a forkful, gives it one good look, then groans and sprawls on his back on the floor instead. He doesn’t even care if the floor hasn’t been cleaned in a year, he’s going to explode.

“I should not have had that last piece,” Tony complains, shutting his eyes against the light. “Or those breadsticks. I haven’t been this full since I left New York and instead tortured myself with the scrapings they call food here.” He pauses just a moment, waits for a response that he had already known wouldn’t come, and continues. “It couldn’t have been Texas? Texas barbecue, yes, eat that immediately. Or New Orleans! I’d kill for some jambalaya right now.”

A plate scuffs against the bench but Tony doesn’t stop.

“I bet I could order some jambalaya. Throw enough money at ‘em and it’ll fly straight here. I could send a private jet, actually. Usually I go to the place that makes the food, but considering the circumstances-”

Something brushes against his arm, right where the shirt ends to bare skin. Tony cracks open an eye and turns his head to look. It’s the kid, of course, but he still didn’t expect to come face to face with him. He’s laid his head on the concrete just below Tony’s arm, the top of his head just brushing against skin, eyes wide and dark like he’s gazing at the moon, or maybe just the man who hung it.

“That mean you want jambalaya?” Tony asks, blinking at the boy. “I can totally get you some jambalaya. You still hungry?” How quickly can the stuff get here? He starts trying to calculate time to cook it fresh, pack it up, and how often do the flights run anyway? No, it might be better to send a private jet, faster for sure, and better equipped to keep a pot of fresh jambalaya warm.

The kid shifts, just a little. He tilts his head so his forehead touches Tony’s arm and exhales, as silent as ever, eyes slipping shut.

“Oh,” Tony says, voice going low as his thoughts relax, whirlwind plans tapering away. “Food coma, huh? Yeah, I’m feeling that right about now too.”

They stay like that in quiet tranquility, but Tony doesn’t shut his eyes. The kid has a habit of staring right at him but he gets kind of antsy if Tony does it back for too long at a time, so this is the best chance he’s gotten to really give him a good look over. It’s not bad. Maybe it’s his imagination but he thinks the regular feeding has done some good for him already, filling in around his cheekbones and jaw, a bit of soft where once it had been too-sharp bones. He even looks a bit less translucent, somehow. The hair is just an absolute travesty and Tony is pretty sure that’s a home--office?-- job, but he supposes it probably didn’t really matter before. No one was going to see it. It looks clean and soft, and the kid looks peaceful, and Tony has almost not quite really believed he’s been real this whole time but now he’s down here, on the floor and close enough to touch.

So he does. It’s a risk that he’ll run away, he knows that, but the kid did it first. Tony bends his elbow and lets his arm come to rest against the side of his head, hand tucking in under his shoulder. The kid’s eyes flutter open but he doesn’t seem inclined to move, blinking slow at Tony like a cat, and if he were to make a sound it would probably be a purr. It scares Tony a little, the fact the kid isn’t scared of him now, a strange man he’s known for two weeks and who has lured him out with food. One of them should be and if it’s not the kid, his mind has decided it’s gotta be him.

“Shit,” Tony says.

He pulls his arm away and sits up, heart beating a frenzy now. What is he thinking, befriending this ceiling-dwelling kid, feeding him, laying on the bare floor with him? It’s not normal, and Tony leaves forever in just ten short days even after delaying some really important business to stay and, what? What exactly is he doing here?

The kid hasn’t moved except to turn on his side and sort of curl his legs up toward his chest, and this time when he looks at Tony there’s no star-struck adoration. He looks at Tony like he’s probably about to do something that the kid really isn’t gonna like, but he’s willing to take that chance anyway. Like food and a single friendly touch has brought him around so completely he might give Tony the benefit of the doubt, even to his own detriment, resigned, terrified, and impossibly hopeful. Tony is no psychic but the kid’s thoughts are plain on his face.

He doesn’t _want_ to prove the kid’s fears right, is the thing. He’s made a big mistake and gained this kid’s trust--him, the most ill-equipped person in the world to be someone’s sole trusted friend--but now it’s too late to undo it. How long has the kid been here alone, undetected, never interacting with a single soul? Then Tony came along, stupid curious Tony, and ruined it all. 

This can’t end in anything but pain.

Some of the fear has fallen from the kid’s face as Tony has stayed there, unmoving. Tony scrubs a hand over his face and sighs.

“You got a name, kid?” he asks, and he sounds as exhausted as he suddenly feels.

The kid tips his head, not in answer but just to regard Tony from a slightly different angle. He makes no move to respond, and Tony is starting to think that’s _the_ thing. Whether he _can_ speak or not, he seems disinclined to attempt to directly communicate his thoughts, even when questioned. No nods or shakes of the head. Not even a shrug.

“I’m not naming you,” Tony warns, leaning forward on both hands to look imperiously down at him. “You’re not a stray dog. I’ll just keep calling you kid if I have to.”

The kid smiles, just a quirk at the edge of his lips, and shifts to carefully set his cheek on top of Tony’s right hand. He meets Tony’s eyes and the adoration is back and Tony wants to shoot whoever chased this kid into the vents, alone and scared and desperate for kindness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to follow the SERIES or else you won't know about the continuing one shots and other fic after this!

There’s a rash of missing paperwork throughout the whole building and by the third day Tony is beginning to become irritated. It’s not that he needs the paperwork himself but the facility is horrendously dependent on paper-based documentation. So when someone has to print something twice, three times, and even on one occasion four times before they successfully  _ retrieve _ said paperwork, it causes a hold up that the workforce is helpless to avoid.

The evenings with the kid are a welcome escape from the clusterfuck that is this charity mission. He’s surprisingly cuddly and somehow sort of desperate for any kind touch, which is less surprising when Tony thinks about how alone he’s been for an unknown amount of time.

When he arrives with dinner that night and locks the door, he doesn’t even have a chance to reach for the rubber ball in his pocket. The kid drops down from the vent like he’d been waiting, landing soundlessly in a way that Tony has still not been able to figure out, not even pausing to gain his balance before he’s tearing straight toward Tony. He’s practically vibrating as he approaches, eyes bright with excitement.

“Whoa, hey,” Tony says, catching the kid by the shoulders as he nearly doesn’t stop in time, but the kid pays it no mind, grabbing Tony’s hand and prying open his fingers to shove something into his palm. “What-”

It’s just a scrap of paper, a sliver really, carefully torn from a larger sheet to contain a single printed word. He flips it over but the other side is blank. He flips it again, back to the word, and frowns.

“Peter,” Tony reads, and then the kid practically falls in against him, forcing Tony to catch him again but this time in a hug against his chest. “Oh,” he says as realization sets in. “ _ Peter?” _

It feels huge, being trusted with a simple name, the first time the kid has ever communicated anything to him. Tony pulls the kid in close, pressing his face into the kid’s--Peter’s--hair, and hides a smile there.

“You could have just borrowed my phone,” Tony says. “A lot easier than whatever you had to do to get this.”

There’s something familiar about it though. The paper is thick and smooth between his fingers, a heavier weight than regular computer paper. In fact, he’s seen this paper every day for the last three weeks. He’s  _ signed _ on this paper nearly every day as well.

“Where did you get this?” he asks, and the kid falls still against him. Tony pulls back, eyebrows raised at the sheepish expression Peter’s wearing. “Did you… Have you been stealing all the papers people have been printing in your egg hunt?”

Peter says nothing, of course, but he rubs one bare foot against his pant leg as if removing dust, studiously not looking at Tony.

“Where’s all the rest of it?” Tony asks, and he can’t help it, he’s kind of smiling now remembering all those busy bees pulling their hair out about paper that goes missing in the two minutes it takes to walk from the computer. Peter had to have been in the vents above the printer, darting down to take a packet as it printed just to scour it for that one single word.

Peter steps back at the question, rubbing the back of his neck. He checks Tony’s face then heads to a door in the wall that Tony knows leads to a little-used storage closet. It’s cluttered when the door is open, filled with misshapen boxes and rusted filing cabinets. Peter grabs a box and slides it out, flipping open the top to reveal a sprawling mass of papers, corners bent and dropped haphazardly into the box. He goes for another box and pulls that out too, its sides bowing with the weight of its contents.

“Okay,” Tony says evenly. “Right. Okay.”

They’ve got to get rid of the evidence. It’s not a body but it kind of feels like one, and it’s nearly as condemning. Tony grabs one edge of a box and pulls, grunting at the surprising weight of it. The kid had made it look so easy.

Peter grabs the other box and together they haul them over to the locked main door. Tony stands and looks at the door, hands on his hips. There are cameras out there. For sure Peter can’t go out there, but what’s it going to look like if Tony gets caught scooting around huge boxes of papers and shredding them? Not innocent, that’s for sure. He could deactivate all the facility cameras in that path for a bit but that’s just as suspicious.

“New plan,” Tony says, turning to point a finger at Peter. “You need to take all this paper and shred it. I’ll kill the camera in the shredder room by the back exit, you know it? Good. I’ll disable that camera tonight before I leave and you get to work. Have it all gone by 6am tomorrow.”

Peter nods but his eyes trail to the bag Tony’s left at the bench, distracted. He’s pretty sure the kid eats when he isn’t around, but the way he’s so ravenous about it points to maybe difficulties getting consistent supplies, or perhaps just a necessary rationing to avoid detection. He’s gained a little weight but Tony still wonders sometimes. Worries. It reminds him, though, about the stuffed bag.

“Yeah, okay. Dinner before lecture.” Tony takes his now-usual spot on the floor, legs stretched under the bench, and starts unloading the bag. “I got some other stuff too. Wanna see?”

He does want to see, of course. Peter takes his usual spot as well, sliding in right beside Tony, thigh-to-thigh. He’s gotten more brazen with the physical contact, not that Tony minds. Yesterday, after eating, he had leaned into Tony’s side and let Tony put an arm around his shoulders, not even balking at the possibility of being held down if he wanted to leave. It’s humbling in a way Tony never thought a simple hug could be.

“Here,” Tony says, pulling out the bag he’d tuck in the top, over the food cartons. “Check this out.” 

He busies himself pulling out the actual food, but watches from the corner of his eye as Peter plucks the bag open and begins pulling out the snacks Tony had picked up at the grocery store. He hadn’t known what the kid liked but he’s eaten everything Tony’s ever brought him, so he’d grabbed one of most everything he could. Chips, cookies, handheld fruit pies, candy bars, sodas, and the list goes on. Things Peter could take with him up there and eat. Yeah, okay, he had thought about how maybe some easily stored meals would be a better choice, but most of that needed to be refrigerated and he refused to feed Peter room temperature cans of Chef Boyardi. So snacks it had been, and he’d just have to keep bringing dinner.

For another week, anyway, until he goes home and  _ that _ sets his insides twisting uncomfortably.

But Peter is again looking at him with that starstruck gaze that has nothing to do with who Tony is in the world but instead who he is in this room, and it wipes all other thought from his mind. The snacks are a hit, apparently. The kid’s double fisting two of them, a Twinkie in one hand and a bag of chips in the other, clutched like maybe if he sets them down they’ll run away.

“You’re about to lose the creme filling,” Tony observes. “That’s the best part.”

Peter reluctantly sets the Twinkie back into the bag. He positions his fingers to open the chips but pauses, looking askance at Tony.

“I mean, you can,” Tony says. “But there’s fries in here so I don’t know why you would. You can eat those later in your… ceiling cave.”

The chips go back in the bag before Tony’s even done talking and Peter is reaching for the styrofoam containers. Fries are kind of his weakness and Tony’s not afraid to use that knowledge when he needs it. The first container he opens is just a burger, which earns a wrinkled nose.

“This one,” Tony says, pulling out the biggest container and setting it between them. “Go ahead. You’re gonna love this.”

Chili cheese fries are an even bigger hit. Peter digs in with wild abandon, stabbing fries with a fork and shoving them into his mouth, taking huge swigs of water between bites. He ignores the burger Tony got to go with it, which is fine. It’ll keep so the kid can eat it later. Tony watches in amusement, chewing through his own burger and occasionally sneaking a fry or two himself.

“I can get you a phone,” Tony says as he polishes off the last of his burger, watching Peter scraping at the wasteland of leftover chili in the fry container. “If you want. You can’t keep stealing the whole facility’s paperwork when you want to tell me something.”

Peter grimaces, dropping the fork in the container. Tony thinks for a second that he’s going to just get up and leave, whisk himself away into the vents because Tony is talking about things he doesn’t want to hear, but instead the kids wipes his mouth primly with a napkin then just- crawls into Tony’s arms. He’s done this before a bit, leaned into Tony until Tony wrapped him up close, but he’s practically in Tony’s lap this time and his head tucks under Tony’s chin, and he sighs in a way that doesn’t sound as content as he should be after a big meal.

“Not that they don’t deserve it,” Tony soothes, bringing one hand up into Peter’s hair and holding there. “They’re kind of inept, I don’t know if you realized. Who keeps all their records on paper in this day and age, honestly.” The kid’s arms are curled in along his sides, just resting there. It’s nice. “Just, you know, gotta get rid of the evidence and we’re golden.”

Tony doesn’t think about it, just sort of places an absent minded kiss to the kid’s temple then freezes. He’s never quite sure what may send Peter rabbitting off because he does do that, but Peter doesn’t move, just gives another little sigh, this one happier, and stays put. Tony relaxes by parts, holding the kid close and maybe this is what he needed too, without ever realizing it.

\--

It’s fucking  _ cold _ , is Tony’s first thought as he steps inside the building. It’s not the first time he’s thought it that morning or even that week, with the nights growing colder with every passing day, but normally once he reaches the office he can whip off his jacket and proceed in just a shirt. It’s just as cold inside as it is outside, maybe even worse, and Tony frowns as he approaches the receptionist.

“What is this, Business on Ice?” he asks.

“The heating system took a nosedive sometime last night,” Lena says, and she looks grumpier than him about it, bundled up in a thick jacket and gloves two sizes too large. “It’s colder than my ex’s heart in here.”

Tony quirks a smile, tapping the counter with two fingers. “It’s never cold in Stark Tower. The heating systems never fail. Comes guaranteed with employment.”

She rolls her eyes and turns back to her computer. “Tell that to my poor, crying mother as I board the plane, Mr Stark.”

He’ll convince her yet, he’s sure of it, but he can’t concentrate enough to put his all into it this morning. A thought niggles at his mind. “This as cold as it got?”

“About,” she says, glancing at the thermostat. “Little colder before the sun came up.”

“And when’s it being fixed?”

“Tomorrow morning.” Tony casts her a dark look, but Lena shrugs. “Apparently everyone’s getting their heaters set right now, he’s got a backlog. We’re lucky we found someone this fast.”

Tony doesn’t stick around to chat any longer than that, distracted and wondering how a kid with no possessions handles the cold. It’s not like he’ll freeze, not nearly cold enough for that, but it’s a miserable sort of cold that soaks into your bones and stays there. So Tony makes his excuses and finds his way to the little abandoned room in the back, tossing a ball in the vent and waiting until the vent cover opens and a grim face peers out.

“Hey kid,” he says.

He doesn’t bother asking about the cold because it’s plain on Peter’s face. His cheeks and the tip of his nose are ruddy and he’s wearing two shirts, one layered on top of the other but both short sleeved and thin. His feet are still bare as they silently touch down, and Tony winces at the thought of the cold concrete as he steps forward, reaching out in welcome.

Peter tucks straight into him, arms automatically curling between them both, fingers pressing cold to Tony’s chest even through the layers he’s wearing. He’s an icebox, god, every last bit of skin chill to the touch. What if the heating broke in the dead of winter, Tony wonders as he winds both arms around the kid to chase the cold out. He could freeze up there in the vents all alone and no one would know, not until… Not for a long time, that’s all. It’s not safe. Safer than a bare street, sure, but it almost leaves Peter more ill-prepared because he’s not expecting it. He doesn’t even seem to have a long sleeved shirt, and Tony would bet there are no blankets up there either.

A gentle rubbing against his collarbone knocks Tony from his thoughts, and it takes Tony a moment to realize that Peter is rubbing his nose there, trying to warm it with friction and body heat. He’s been so distracted with the what-ifs and may-bes that he’s completely neglected to fix the kid up, not that he knows how to do that exactly. For a start, Tony pushes Peter’s head back with one hand, sets one palm on each side of his face, and rubs vigorously. Peter grimaces and shuts his eyes, bearing it with nary a protest until his skin is blossoming pink and warm under Tony’s hands.

“Too bad I didn’t grab a coffee this morning,” Tony says, drawing back his hands once he’s satisfied. “That’d warm you right up.”

Peter tries to chase the disappearing hands, eyes opening when he’s not quite fast enough. He looks perkier already and in a better mood by far. No more grim lines on his brow, no more cold-bitten cheeks and nose, but his hands are still ice blocks against Tony’s chest. He won’t stand for it.

“Here,” Tony says, easing back just a little and batting Peter’s hands away when he tries to slide back in. “Stop, this’ll be better, look-”

He manages to unbutton his coat and draw it around Peter’s shoulders, Peter sinking into the warmth with one hard shiver and staying put from there. Tony pushes back a grimace at the rush of cool against his toasty stomach, but the warmth he’s losing is warmth Peter gains, so he just tucks the kid in close and draws the coat sides as far around them as he can. It doesn’t quite fit around them both but it’s good enough, and Tony has things to do. He pulls out his phone, wraps both arms around Peter and readjusts them until he can see what he’s doing, and sets about rearranging his day. It’s not hard to give himself an out, make some explanations, and then he has a day free. Easy peasy.

Except night falls and the kid won’t come back to the hotel, he’s already tried that tactic a million times in the course of this one day alone, and he doesn’t have the heart to leave him there to suffer through another cold night alone. His body is going to give him hell tomorrow but Tony bunkers down on the floor against the wall anyway, laying on his back with Peter laying warm across the top of him with his coat over them both, and thinks about how ridiculous his life has become. He’s given up his soft, clean, warm bed for a concrete floor and some kid with a blind man’s haircut, doomed to aching muscles and bones in the morning.

Then Peter tucks his icy bare feet up under Tony’s calf and sighs, and Tony’s hand moves through the uneven strands of his hair, and he realizes it was a foregone conclusion from the moment he stepped in the building that morning.

\--

The cuddles kind of become part of the whole dinner thing. Now that he’s gotten the skin contact and the security of Tony wrapping him up tight, Peter seems as ravenous for this as the food. Sometimes he even demands attention before food which is really not a thing Tony ever would have expected with the way he inhales everything he’s given. But the last week ticks by too fast and Tony goes in every day intending to talk to Peter about when he leaves, but never quite managing it.

He can get food delivery, except who does he put down as the recipient? Surely people are going to start noticing if food gets delivered and disappears. There’s no one Tony would trust to give Peter’s secret, not here, and he doesn’t think it’d go down well to try to get Peter to move into an apartment. He had broached the topic once and Peter had nearly thrown his soda in Tony’s face in his haste to climb away into the vents, and it had taken half an hour to convince him to come back down.

Until finally the day comes when Tony knows he’s leaving the next day. He’s booked the latest flight possible so they can have one last dinner together, but it’s not much consolation and he isn’t even sure what to say. He should have told Peter weeks ago, prepared the kid and made plans, but he didn’t and there’s nothing he can do about it now.

He arrives to the little locked room with pizza, nerves and emotions running high, and throws the rubber ball down the vent straight away. It doesn’t take long for it to make it’s way back and then Peter is flipping his way down, face brightening as he spots the greasy box in Tony’s hands.

And he just looks so happy that Tony can’t say anything, not then. He decides to wait until after they eat, let them enjoy one more meal together without Peter knowing what’s coming. Anxiety is starting to flutter hard in his chest now as he watches Peter eat, thinking of the words to say because he can’t remember any of the lines he had so carefully prepared.

And then Peter curls in against his side as he munches on dessert, dirty fingers carefully not touching Tony’s expensive suit even though Tony has told him a million times that that’s what the dry cleaner is for. He thinks maybe his heart is breaking in his chest as he wraps an arm around Peter, knowing that their time is coming to an end. It’s time to say something, it has to be or he may never say anything at all. He can’t stay, and he can’t leave without a word no matter how much easier it would be in the moment, so it has to be now.

“Hey,” Tony says, nudging Peter just a little, until he can slip a hand in his jacket pocket and pull out a StarkPhone. It’s just a publicly available model he’d picked up the other day, but it’s the best one that’s been released. “Here, kid.”

Peter takes the phone, expression blankly uncomprehending, and stares at it. He didn’t expect Peter to say anything, he knows better by now, but he had expected  _ something _ . Instead Peter is still and quiet against his side, leaning in closer so his head rests against Tony’s shoulder, and now he can’t see Peter’s face, can’t read the obvious thoughts that cross his face. He resists when Tony leans back to look at him, hands on Peter’s elbows to ease him back, and eventually the kid gives in with a disgruntled frown. He looks more mulish than Tony has maybe ever seen him, refusing to meet Tony’s eyes as he turns the phone over in his hands.

“You don’t have to text me,” Tony says, because he knows that may be an issue. Peter has refused to communicate any further since giving Tony the scrap with his name on it, not even holding up fingers for his age, or a nod at a guess. “It’ll help us stay in touch though. I can message you, and if you ever need me…”

Peter is frowning at Tony now, like he isn’t making any sense, and he realizes the kid is probably thinking about how Tony goes to his hotel every night. He’s not thinking about Tony leaving, because Tony’s never even told him he will be. And he  _ has _ thought about it before, how alone Peter is if there’s some sort of emergency. Tony could be asleep in his hotel room and anything could be happening in the building, with him none the wiser. He’s managed to get a very basic version of JARVIS connected to the security footage but the place isn’t tech savvy enough to have the AI in further than an overview. It’s a logical assumption for Peter to make, even if it’s wrong.

“I leave tomorrow night, Pete,” Tony says quietly, trying not to let the hollow feeling of loss into his voice. “To New York. Home.”

Peter jerks in his hands, awful realization washing over his face as the words Tony is saying sinks in. He looks shocked, like he hadn’t realized this was a possibility even though Tony has mentioned New York. But Tony has never mentioned his home or his business, just the people in his life, the food, the places he goes. God, for all the kid has known Tony moved here and this is his permanent job. He’s failed Peter so hard and he’s cursing himself because he should have been preparing him these last two weeks, eased him into it.

Because now Peter is scrambling to his feet and ripping himself from Tony’s grip, the phone falling unheeded to the floor. Betrayal is sharp in his eyes, jaw clenched. He doesn’t look angry, he looks lost and hurt, and he’s never looked more like a kid than he does at this moment. Tony’s comes to his feet too, hands up and palms out, and he’s made such a huge mistake.

“Peter, hey, it’s okay,” he says. ‘I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner, but I’ll come visit.”

And Peter is shaking his head, a wordless no that he’s never given before, another communication but this one joyless, a result of trust squandered and not gained. He backs up a step. Tony is drawn forward as if tied to him by a string, and that’s when Peter turns, lifts his hand toward the vent, and is--rocketing through the air. He zips across the room in a smooth arc and then he’s slipping inside, gone in a flash.

Tony’s brain can’t catch up. It’s not a comfortable feeling for him, not something he’s ever been used to, but the realized fears and the feeling that he’s done so wrong are swirling inside him, and then Peter flew through the air-

Tony picks up the phone and hesitantly approaches the vent. “Peter?” he says quietly, but he knows the kid is gone, had heard him pounding away across the room, not even bothering to try for quiet.

There’s something hanging from the vent, white strands glistening in the light, and they’re sticky and strong when Tony touches them. He takes off what he can, rolling it into a little ball and stowing it into his pocket because this is what Peter had used to propel himself, and he wants to look at it closer sometime. Not tonight. For now, Tony throws the rubber ball down the vent in the direction the kid went and waits, but there’s not a single sound. He throws another and another until he’s exhausted his small supply. Peter doesn’t come back. Eventually he tucks the phone just inside the open vent cover, pulls it closed, and goes back to his quiet hotel room.

\--

The kid’s exceedingly upset. Tony comes back with a bag of breakfast burritos the next morning and finds the leftover pizza still sitting on the bench where he had left it for Peter to take in the night, but apparently he never came back. It’s enormously upsetting to realize he’s so upset that he’s passed up on food, and not even just any food but pizza, which is Tony’s number one bribe tool. It also means the breakfast consolation probably isn’t going to work. He’s not even sure if the kid eats breakfast (Tony usually doesn’t) but he had thought it would give him a chance to smooth ruffled feathers and talk things over.

But the kid isn’t there and probably hasn’t been since he ran off. Tony tosses a rubber ball down the vent from the pocket he had filled that morning but he doesn’t honestly expect a response if he hasn’t even been back. When he opens the vent cover, though, he finds that the phone is gone. That’s more hopeful, right? He’s accepted a gift, contact with Tony, and if something happens they have the line between them. It’s good.

Tony closes the vent up. He’s not even a little bit hungry but he doesn’t have any pressing business this morning--he hadn’t needed that extra week, honestly, they’ve got it covered without him--so the best course of action is to eat and to wait, and hope that Peter comes. 

Tony sits on the bench beside the pizza boxes he needs to trash and that’s when he sees the phone, sitting abandoned right on top. He had left it right inside the vent, he’s sure of that, which means Peter  _ had _ come back. He had just… refused all of Tony’s gifts to him.

Peter doesn’t come that morning. When Tony arrives with dinner, the burrito and the phone are right at the entrance of the vent where he left them.

\--

“Hey, Pep. There’s been another delay. They need more help here, you know, getting things set up. The infrastructure just wasn’t a good match and we need more upgrades. I’m thinking another week.”


	3. Chapter 3

The nice thing about the StarkPhone in the vent is that JARVIS can monitor that area, once Tony does a little programming. He can tell Tony that Peter hasn’t come back to that room, hasn’t seen the phone or the food, and there’s been no discernable movement or sound in the vent there either. When, the day after his cancelled flight, Tony hasn’t seen hide nor hair of the kid, he sets about changing that the only way he knows how.

As he’s tucking away the last of the StarkPhones in the vents dotting the building, he hopes like hell it’ll work. Pepper will kill him if he pushes his return out any further.

It takes a good half a day, but he finally gets a ping from JARVIS. He excuses himself from the conversation he’s involved in--they’ve got this, it was such a lie that they needed more help, and they’re honestly kind of puzzled that he’s still here--and strides straight to the location JARVIS had detected movement. It’s an empty office on the opposite side of the building as their dinner spot, so no wonder the original phone hadn’t sensed anything.

Tony finds the phone on the ground. The screen is cracked and the phone won’t power on, but JARVIS helpfully pulls up the video stream from the camera before the fall. It’s Peter, unmistakable even in the dark, face drawn as he picks up the vent cover and pushes the phone out like a baby bird from the nest.

Tony is ready next time. He’s expanded the alert range, now that he knows it works as intended and Peter isn’t going to do more than trash the tech. JARVIS tells him there’s vibration detected in the vents near one of the phones. Tony doesn’t waste any time. He’s mapped out all the frequently-empty spaces in the building and he goes to the nearest one, sequestering himself away in a meeting room.

“JARVIS, activate walkie-talkie.”

“Done, sir.”

Static silence feeds through the speakers. Tony rubs a hand across his face and starts to talk.

“Hey, kid, you there? It’s Tony. Obviously.” He’s got one eye on the sensor report from JARVIS. No movement, no sound, but that includes movement away which means the kid is still there. “Peter, I’m sorry. Please stop running away. I fucked up, we both know that. It’s kind of what I do, don’t take it personally.” He pauses, watching the video feed for any change in the shadows, but there’s nothing. “I’m not going to just abandon you, okay? I swear that was never going to happen. Just, can you come down?”

The sensors ping movement just before the shadows in the video feed begin to shift. A pale face appears and the Stark tech is powerful enough to show the blank, tired look on Peter’s face as he approaches the camera. He has to crawl in this section of the vents. There are places where he can stand up, Tony knows that from the building blue prints, but this section is too short for that. It’s jarring because he’s never seen the way Peter gets around up there, and it breaks him just a little more to finally get a visual on that.

Peter stops by the phone and looks down, where Tony knows his own face is looking up at Peter from the screen. They stare at each other across digital noise for several long seconds. He half expects the vent cover to go up and the phone to go down, but instead Peter sits up, slumps back against the wall, and grabs the phone with both hands.

“Hey, kid,” Tony says softly, even though Peter isn’t looking directly at the screen anymore. “Thanks. It’s good to see your face.”

Peter doesn’t react, doesn’t smile or shift or even blink. He looks tired and drawn, and Tony  _ knows _ he hasn’t been eating like he should because all the food he’s given him has been left untouched. He has to fix this, and fast.

“You don’t have to come down,” Tony says, “but I wish you would. I pushed my flight out a week and I was really hoping we could spend some more time before I leave.” The kid’s lips twist at that and he looks away, off into the dark of the vents. Fear grips Tony’s lungs and squeezes, but the kid doesn’t make a move to go off that way, just sits there, curled up with the phone in the dark. “I wanted to talk to you about options. I know you don’t want an apartment but this place isn’t good for you, honey.”

Peter’s eyes snap up and lock on Tony’s through the small screen between them. The endearment had just slipped out without his thought or permission but he’s so glad he’s said it, if it makes Peter look at him again. He misses the abject adoration that Peter had held for him, like Tony was the source of all that was good in the world, but that was never going to be sustainable. The reality of who Tony is and how very human he can be was always going to smack the kid in the face someday. He just wishes it had been a bit gentler.

There’s noise outside the door. Someone tries the handle and finds it locked. Peter’s eyes flicker.

“Yeah,” Tony says. “That’s my cue. Look, I’m going to bring dinner today. Meet me there, okay? Or at least consider it.” He pauses. “I miss you.”

Uncertainty flickers in Peter’s eyes. The screen goes black.

\--

When Tony opens the vent that evening to throw a rubber ball in, it’s Peter’s face that greets him, sprawled on his stomach just behind the opening and staring right at him. He looks… a little angry, and a lot wary.

“Okay, I deserve that look,” is the first thing Tony says, and it all just kind of spills out from there. He’s not afraid to grovel, not when he’s screwed up pretty monumentally and broken the trust of someone who had put everything into him. It’s not a good feeling.

But by the time he’s finished apologizing and explaining how he came to be such an idiot, and how much he doesn’t want to go, Peter’s face has smoothed out. He contemplates Tony, chin pillowed on his folded hands. Judge, jury, and executioner, and Tony will accept his verdict. He’s already decided himself guilty anyway.

After a long minute, Peter sits up on his elbows and scoots forward, coming to the edge of the vent and glancing down at the floor. Tony steps forward, both arms out and heart in his throat.

“Come down?” he asks, plaintive with both palms up to the ceiling.

They meet in the middle, Peter wrapping his arms around Tony’s neck and Tony’s arms around his shoulders. Tony backs up and Peter lets himself slide, snakelike, from the darkness until his legs fall free and he’s there, on the ground with Tony and burrowing into him like he’s been dying for it too.

“Thank you,” Tony says, kissing the top of his head, his temple, the flat of his forehead. “I know I’m an idiot. I know. Thank you for coming back to me.”

He intends to take them to the bench and shovel food into the kid, but Peter digs his heels in, refusing to move until they just sit down where they are, Peter all wound around him and refusing to let go. Tony doesn’t even mind, just tucks his face in against the top of Peter’s head and breathes and aches for what he’s done and what he almost lost for good.

“Come to New York with me,” he says, the words coming unbidden, and he’s just as shocked as Peter seems to be but he rolls on automatically, his greatest talent. “I’ve got vents too. They’re bigger, wider, sturdier. They’re made for serious alterations to JARVIS and the wiring in the tower, you’ll love it. We can have real pizza every week.”

Peter’s fingers clench hard in Tony’s shirt, his whole body stiff.

“You won’t have to worry about food or getting kicked out,” Tony continues, desperate to save the situation and damn him for letting his mouth run off without his brain, but he can’t say he doesn’t like the idea. “And you won’t be alone.”

It doesn’t even feel like the kid is breathing. Tony pats his back a couple times, concerned that maybe he’s broken him this time, overwhelmed his anxious little mind with too many new ideas and fears and possibilities. Or maybe the kid doesn’t want to go but he can’t say it, he can’t say anything, and Tony has presumed too much. Then the kid inhales a stuttering breath, turns his face into Tony’s neck, and starts to sort of climb him.

“Whoa, ah-” Tony grasps at Peter’s clothing until he can get a good grip around his waist, trying not to fall backward and instead just sort of sinking down to the ground, arms full of the kid who has some sort of obsession with being up high that he doesn’t quite know how to handle. The kid takes jagged, shaking breaths but he doesn’t seem necessarily that upset, more like he’s held his breath too long and is trying to gain it all back at once. “Or you can stay here,” Tony says. “We can… figure something out? I’ll buy the building.”

Peter laughs then, a stilted sound that rockets through Tony, head to toe and back again. A real sound, and he hadn’t even honestly been sure the kid could make sounds. He’s smiled before, he’s sighed, but this time he laughs and that’s his voice. Tony can hear his  _ voice  _ in that laugh, just a bit, and he wants to pack him up and take him home immediately. Instead he wraps his arms more firmly around him and leans the side of his head against the side of Peter’s hip, where the kid has settled half-sprawling across the floor.

“You think I’m joking,” he says, “but I can buy this building and kick them all out. Start the project all over somewhere else and give this place to you.” Peter leans sideways and looks at him then, eyebrows raised. “Is that a yes?”

Peter tilts his head, then gives one brief, small shake of the head. The novel hits just won’t stop coming. It’s just a small thing, the smallest communication, but it feels like a huge deal. Tony carefully reels the kid back down because the current position is just really not conducive to this sort of talk, and cups the side of Peter’s head, brushing rough-shorn hair back from his ear and trying to figure the kid out. If that reaction wasn’t because he wants to stay here...

“Then-“ He hesitates because he doesn’t want to lead the kid somewhere he doesn’t want to go but without a stable route of communication, he doesn’t have much choice but to suggest. “You wanna come home with me? To New York?”

Peter leans his head into Tony’s hand and that look is back, somehow, that adoration. He gives a half nod, so small Tony could blink and miss it, and it’s on. It’s real. He’s not sure how he’s going to pull this off but Tony knows that he’ll do it somehow, however he can. First up: scheduling the private jet.

\--

They don’t get the chance to take the jet. It’s a bare two days later that Tony enters the office to complete chaos. There’s a woman sitting shell-shocked in a chair, a coworker kneeling beside her and patting her hand as she talks in a low, soothing voice. Facilities management is having a heated discussion involving blueprints. The director is on the phone, sweating bullets, and when he spots Tony he looks set to faint.

Facilities is pointing at the ceiling, and Tony’s rapidly sinking stomach tries to turn itself inside out. They’ve found him. There’s no question in Tony’s mind that this is what’s happened, so the only question left is  _ where is Peter _ ?

“Mr Stark, sir,” the director says, rushing to Tony as he stows his mobile phone. Tony doesn’t even know the man’s name, never bothered to memorize it, hardly bothered to hear it on introduction.

“What’s going on?” Tony asks brusquely. “Talk fast, man, I don’t have all day.” He doesn’t feel like he has even a minute. He hopes his hands aren’t shaking.

“Of course, sir, I’m sorry,” the director says, and he’s wringing his metaphorical hands in his distress at having to tell Tony this news. “We found a trespasser, sir. In the building. We’re searching for them now.”

“Searching?” Tony questions, all incredulous disdain. “You  _ lost _ the trespasser? Where did you see him?”

“Ah, you see, that’s-” The director looks as if he really does not want to say the words. If it were anyone but Tony Stark, he would be avoiding this conversation. “He was spotted in the ceiling, sir. The, ah, vents.”

“Jesus Christ,” Tony says, shaking his head. He turns toward the main entrance because he can’t just stand there anymore. “Get this taken care of and  _ don’t _ bother me. I have a phone call to make.” And he shoots the man a sharp glance, a  _ you really fucked up this time _ sort of glance, and storms away.

He doesn’t even hesitate, just heads straight for the place he and Peter know best together. There’s people everywhere, some who work in the building and some who don’t. Some of the vents stand open, ladders open beneath the gaping mouths where Peter finds himself at home. He could be anywhere, and he’s probably terrified.

His phone dings. Tony stops where he is and pulls it out, because he should have gone there first, sent a message to Peter telling him where to be, if he can get there. Peter’s beaten him to the chase, though. It’s a text, one single text, of an eye emoji. Tony pauses and looks up, eyes searching one vent cover then another, but there’s nothing to see in the dark. The people in the room to the right have stopped what they’re doing and are staring at him, part awe and part fear, and they scramble back to their conversations when he gives them a dark look.

Something hits his heel then, bouncing off the back of his shoe. Tony looks down to find a small rubber ball rolling listlessly away, and his heart stutters. There’s only one vent clearly behind him, dead center in the hallway, and as he stares at it a text comes again. Eyes, eyes, eyes, three of them in a row and an exclamation mark at the end.

Christ, the kid is stuck. No matter which way he goes, there’s someone there, searching for him. Tony nods once, sharply, and tucks his phone away. They’re quickly running out of options, and if he waits much longer this is going to get a lot harder. He’s not 100% certain about the vent plans in this part of the building, but there are really very few places the vents can go from where Peter is now and they’re pretty straightforward, usually.

“Out,” he says, striding into the office with the harried workers he’d already glared into submission.

“Mr Stark, sir, we’re trying to find-”

“I know why you’re here, and I don’t care. I need this room.” They stare at him, eyes wide and conflict clear on their faces, but he doesn’t give a damn about what their bosses told them. Now he needs them to feel the same way. “Stark Industries is  _ not _ going to be happy about this. Stark already isn’t. Do you really wanna play this game?”

There’s a chorus of hurried apologies, everyone quickly grabbing their things and tumbling out the door. Tony slams it shut and locks it, then pulls down each blind in turn, masking the room from the eyes inside. There’s a large window to the outside, thank fuck, and he presses a button at his wrist as he crosses the room to close those shades too.

“You here, kid?” he says as he crosses to the opposite side of the room, and he’s hardly finished the sentence when the vent is opened and the kid falls straight down, landing on the balls of his feet as quietly as ever.

He looks terrible, hair matted to his sweating forehead and eyes wild. His chest is heaving like he’s been running for an hour, but Tony knows it can’t be physical exertion because if he’s been running through those vents he would have been caught in ten seconds flat. The damn things echo. No, this is fear, plain and simple.

“Hey, shh, it’s okay,” Tony says, sweeping forward and pulling Peter in against him. The kid doesn’t sink into him like normal, all his muscles pulled so taut they could give Clint’s bow a run for its money. He’s shaking like a leaf, or maybe that’s Tony, but as they huddle there he can feel both their hearts slowing just a little. “There we go. Nice and easy. I’ve got this, okay? Everything’s fine.”

Peter leans back just enough to give him a hard look, mouth a thin line. Okay, yeah, fair. Everything isn’t fine, but it’s going to be. 

“Have a little faith,” Tony says, and bumps the heel of his palm into Peter’s forehead. “Have I failed you yet? Actually, no, let’s not talk about that one.”

He glances at the window. Peter tenses and follows his gaze, wary and watchful in a way even he has never been before. Tony squeezes his shoulder, drawing back his attention.

“Get ready because in a minute or two that window is gonna blow in.” Peter’s eyes go wide, the fear coming back hard and strong, and Tony curses himself for a fool. “In a good way! It’s a good explosion. I called the Iron Man armor. We’re gonna jet out of here, alright?”

It does not, in fact, seem alright. Peter backs up, shaking his head, but his eyes go to the closed door and he freezes. He’s trapped and Tony knows it, but there’s nothing he can do to fix that. There’s no alternative to stay here and be found except escape out that window, not with this much attention and this many people.

It’s the kid’s worst nightmare. Tony has no validation for it aside from the kid’s complete and utter discomfort anywhere but the vents or boxed in against Tony, but he’s pretty sure outside is the place Peter wants to be least in this world. Nevermind outside, rushing through the sky with nothing around you. No, it’s not the best place for Peter either, but it’s better than here.

“You’ve gotta trust me on this,” Tony says, creeping forward to rest a hand against the side of Peter’s face. Peter leans into it, helpless to the touch as always. “You can’t stay here.”

Then the glass breaks as the suit arrives, a rain of shards and sound. Someone screams outside the door but he doesn’t have time to coddle them too. Tony abandons his position to stand, letting it slot itself onto him piece by piece until he’s fully suited. When he looks down, Peter has shrunk away until his back is to the wall, and he’s looking at Tony like a stranger. He retracts the faceplate and holds out a hand.

“Come on, Pete. Let me get you out of here to somewhere safe.”

Peter fidgets against the wall. Tony doesn’t move, keeping his hand out stretched but knowing better than to take a single step forward. The shattering of the glass has alerted the building to strange goings-on, he can hear them out there, and he can see by Peter’s expression that he hears it too. The seconds tick by slowly, and then Peter walks forward like a man to the noose.

“Good,” Tony praises, drawing him in and helping him shift to the right position. “You ready?”

Peter squeezes his eyes shut and tucks his head in against the armor, and that’s all he’s probably going to get. The face plate shuts and the armor takes off, zipping through the broken window with its back to the ground.

“Hey JARVIS, send a message to the director that we have some concerns about facility security so Stark is out. Send a check for the broken window.”

\--

He’s half convinced he’s managed to kill the kid by the time they arrive home. He should have given him a jacket or something, it’s gotta be cold, but he had eventually turned on some radiant warmth from the armor itself and that was the best he could do. He really didn’t think stopping over somewhere to wait for a private jet would go over very well, so he went with the devil they knew.

He half expects the kid to be catatonic when they land after Tony has pushed every boundary and then some, but when he sets Peter down the kid staggers back, falls on his ass, looks wildly around, and then catapults himself directly at Tony again. Tony catches him, of course, and he’s pretty sure the kid is trying to climb into the armor itself which is just, wow, he really has not designed it for that sort of thing.

“Hey, come on, gimme sec,” Tony says, as the bots whir impatiently at his side to remove the armor. Tony gives in for a moment and fusses over him, just a quick iron-cuddle and a nudge, brushing hair back from his face. “Can I get out of the armor first? It takes like two seconds. I only brought this prototype as back up so I’ve got armor bites, it’s not fun. Can I have two seconds?”

Peter huffs a displeased sound but backs up a step, arms folding tight around himself and grasping at his elbows. Time is of the essence because if Pepper is at the Tower she will either be arriving here or otherwise calling in no time at all and he really doesn’t think Peter would be thrilled with either of those. The armor is off a moment later and he reaches for the kid as Peter glues himself back to Tony’s front. Time for his safe place, yes, before he shakes apart into a bag of bones and fear and little else.

“Vents,” Tony says decisively, and takes them straight into the tower. 

It’s quick work to get Peter where he needs him, no nonsense allowed because the kid is practically shutting down before his eyes as they take the elevator to the main floor. It’s not exactly ideal but the penthouse is Pepper’s now that she’s CEO and Tony has set himself up in a room here, and he’s pretty sure that’s going to be the best place to let the kid go too.

“There,” Tony says, settling them below one of the vents and pointing up. “Here’s your way up. My bedroom is that way, the bathroom is there, the kitchen there. Ladders go to other floors, and you can go there but if you go far enough down it’s offices. The Avengers live on different floors, but this is the main floor so sometimes we’re all here. I’ll send the blueprints to your phone.”

Peter is swaying against his side, eyes locked on the vent, and Tony isn’t even sure he’s listening. Overload, right. Tony unlocks his arms even though he doesn’t want to and taps the kid on the back.

“Go on. It’s all yours.”

He doesn’t have to say it a second time. Peter jumps and pushes the vent open with one hand and catches hold of the lip with the other, then he’s hauling himself up and disappearing into the dark. The vent access clatters shut behind him. There’s hardly a sound after that because the Tower vents are made with better materials but Tony knows the kid has got to be disappearing right about now.

“Um. Did you just release a whole ass human into the ventilation shafts?”

“Jesus!” Tony whips around, finding Clint staring at the vent with an expression that says he’s seen weirder, but not by much. “Warn a guy. You know I have a heart condition, right?”

“Was that a feral child?” Clint asks. “Did you adopt a feral child?”

“I didn’t adopt anyone, that’s not a feral child, but yes he lives in the vents now. You got a problem with that?” Tony asks, and he hears the sharp edges in his voice but doesn’t even care to try to stop them.

Clint pauses and looks at him. “No. I just wish I’d known the vents were up for grabs.”

“Don’t even think about going up there,” Tony says, pointing an imperious finger at him. “I’m serious. Not even a peek. They belong to Peter and you’re to keep your grubby hands off, and leave him alone.”

Clint raises both hands in the air and turns to walk away. “Yeah, fine. I see who the new favorite is.”

“You were never the favorite to begin with,” Tony calls after his retreating back.

Clint flips him the bird and then he’s gone. Tony leans against the back of the couch, realizing suddenly that he’s tired and achey and tense with stress. Unfortunately the fun just never stops.

“JARVIS,” he says, turning toward his room where he knows a tablet lies awaiting him and maybe even a visit from Peter once he calms down. “Keep an eye on the kid for me. I’ve got some work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends this little ficlet! I really appreciate every single review, kudo, and bookmark from every one of you. Stay tuned for one shots in the series, and please do feel free to post prompts for future one-shots in the comments or email them to adoraberry@gmail.com if you prefer.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, did you know I'm open to prompts in this 'verse? I've got loads of wanna-writes already (introducing Clint, Bruce, Rhodey, Natasha, and Steve) but please feel free to suggest specific ideas in the comments or to adoraberry@gmail.com. It's just gotta follow the main rules of this 'verse: Peter doesn't talk, Peter does NOT want to go outside, and Peter doesn't trust people he doesn't know.


End file.
